


Under My Wing

by Dusty



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, All 'age play' is just supernatural beings feeling soft or sauntery, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cherub Aziraphale, Corporal Punishment, Cuddling & Snuggling, Discipline, Ethereal age play, Fluff, Just a smack with a ruler though, Little Crowley, M/M, Meaning cherubs and snakelets, Mild angst but it will be okay, Mild domestic discipline, No Sex, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Parental Aziraphale, Parental Discipline, Parental Love, Plagiarism of the Desiderata, Quote: We're On Our Own Side (Good Omens), SO MUCH INTIMACY, Sentimental, Snakelet is what they call a baby snake I MEAN COME ON, Sweet, Unconditional Love, Undying Love, Unexpectedly soft and emotional, agape love, feeling, naughty noodle, romantic view of the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 21:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: God invented the smiting of bottoms precisely because of a contrary cherub caught in a lie.This is a sort of origins story of how our new and shiny angel of the eastern gate Aziraphale learned about wholesome discipline which resulted in his demotion from Eden Protector (Cherub) to Principality. It leads on to how modern day Aziraphale handles his Little Crowley.All discipline in this story is non sexual, though it does fit in with my other stories which always seem to saunter into smut.





	Under My Wing

Aziraphale had sheltered Crawly from the rain out of instinct. It only occurred to him when the earth gave a tremble, that perhaps the angel of the eastern gate should not be providing shelter to a meddlesome serpent. 

As the ground shook, the black winged demon had given a grimace, a fleeting warning glance to the angel, and slipped back into snake form, slithering away. Aziraphale miracled himself to the desert sands on the outside of the garden, and tried to look busy by repairing any damage to the wall.

He was attending to a gap in the wall with what he hoped was an appropriately shaped rock he’d found when Crawly slithered out of the hole, giving him the fright of his life. The demon hissed and snaked away from garden. 

‘You’d better stay out!’ scolded Aziraphale, still holding the rock. ‘God is angry. Goodness knows what she’ll do to you now, demon.’

Crawly hissed, reforming into a man-shape. ‘Oh Aziraphale,’ drawled Crawley, with a light smirk. ‘I wouldn’t worry about me. I’ve been reassigned, remember. All in a day’s hellish work.’ He winked and re-snaked, slipping into a mini sand dune. 

‘What are you doing in there?’ asked Aziraphale, perplexed. No answer came. Well, at least the fiend was out of the garden.

The angel looked down at the large stone in his hands and took great delight in wedging it in the hole. Ha. The wall was now secure, with the demon on the outside. He felt proud of himself, fulfilling his angelic duty as a cherub, protector of Eden… but then jumped out of his skin as a voice boomed through the sky. 

‘Aziraphale, angel of the eastern gate,’ came the stern voice of God, at the same time as a bright light surrounded the angel. 

Uh oh.

‘Yes, Lord?’ answered Aziraphale, nervously.

‘Where is the flaming sword I gave you, Aziraphale, to guard the gate of Eden?’

‘Sword?’ he questioned, with as much innocence as he could muster. ‘Right! Sharp, cutty thing.’ He played for time as jovially as he could, heart pounding. ‘Ah… must have put it down here somewhere.’ He continued to feign looking for it, as if it might just be lying around on the ground by his feet. 

The light went out.

‘I’ll forget my own head next!’ continued Aziraphale obliviously. He looked up and realised the conversation was over, and he was now standing in the chill of the wall’s shadow. 

‘Oh dear.’ he said to himself, swallowing nervously. He had just _ lied _ to God. And She would be looking for that sword now. 

He stayed just where he was for a moment, expecting hellfire to rise up and take him, or a lightning strike, or perhaps he would just be melted down for scrap, to make better angels. He wondered if he should go back and tend to the begonias, or if moving from the spot would make matters worse. Oh dear. Being in trouble was _ horrid _. 

The serpent popped his head out of the sand, tongue flicking. 

The angel huffed. ‘Oh go away Crawly. You’ve done enough!’ complained Aziraphale. The snake did not move, but its yellow glowing eyes were watching him intently. 

Aziraphale frowned. That damned demon was watching and waiting, no doubt to see how the angel would be punished. 

Sure enough, another slight rumble, and a large, human-shaped creature appeared. She was like an older version of Eve, with all the curves and bumps to go with it, but so much taller. Aziraphale looked up at her in awe, his head level with her waist. He saw a kind face, knowing eyes, and a slight smile which indicated an unnerving familiarity. He understood this representation. Eve-like. Mother-like. And his Almighty.

She was clothed in a white, shimmering gown. Her copious ebony hair was a stately arrangement of intricate cornrows and braids, accentuating the contours of her cheekbones. She was carrying with her a great deal of power and presence, and richly dark skin radiated an exuberance that Aziraphale had not seen in any other living thing. She was all of time and space. She was ineffable. She was infinite. And, _ oh dear _, she was cross. 

Aziraphale felt rather small. 

‘Aziraphale,’ spoke the vision, in the very same stern voice of God as just before. 

‘Yes, Lord?’ answered the angel, meekly this time, clenching everything there was to be clenched. 

She took a step towards him, but heard a soft hiss. Her head snapped towards the small sand dune and she saw the lurking serpent. Crawley shrank back but was suddenly hurtling through the air like a safety pin pulled by a magnet, shooting right into God’s hand. Aziraphale watched with interest as Crawly writhed about before mysteriously starting to shrink in size. The mischievous demon was now a very sorry snakelet, threading itself through God’s fingers as if trying to appease Her. The tongue, now rather tiny, flickered in panic. 

‘Shhh,’ said God, to the delinquent noodle, who was now about as threatening as a tipsy caterpillar. With her forefinger, she gave him an admonishing tap on the nose which surely smarted, and Crawley gave a little squeak. Aziraphale felt quite sorry for him. 

She scowled at the reptile who was moping in her palm. ‘I’ll deal with you later,’ she chided. ‘You’re needed downstairs, I believe.’

Crawly’s eyes widened in surprise, and he disappeared with a whoosh, leaving Aziraphale opened mouthed and standing like a deer in the headlights. If deers and headlights had been invented yet.

God turned to him. The light in her eyes was like something he’d seen centuries ago, although that made no sense. He was brand new. Albeit, a little spoiled now. 

‘_ Aziraphale _…’ She spoke so gently, it was almost alluring, as if she was taking him to her bosom with her voice alone. 

But he knew he was in terrible trouble. Would she hit him like she had Crawly? Would she send him somewhere. He couldn’t help stepping backwards. 

‘No, Aziraphale,’ came another impossibly soft intonation. She held out her hand. ‘Come with me.’ 

She still appeared stern, but the angel felt quite enchanted by Her aura of warmth and reassurance. He sheepishly took her hand and they were instantly in another place. It was all white and fluffy, forever, with comfortable seats and a magical hum in the air. She sat down on a fluffy white pouffe and pulled the disgraced angel to her, so he was sitting on her knee, now so utterly childlike. He shifted a little, getting comfortable. How long would he be here? What would she say? Was she going to tell him off? Read him a story with a strong moral message? Would she expel him, send him down to hell in flames? The visual of fire and damnation spun in his mind as he trembled, vertigo raging through him, and he covered his eyes with his hands as if that would send it all away. 

God, understanding it all, wrapped her arms around him, utterly enveloping him. ‘Easy, Aziraphale,’ she soothed. ‘Don’t be afraid.’

He felt his mind fill up with fresh air and allowed Her to pull his hands down and away from his face. She kissed his temple. ‘I want you to listen,’ she added firmly. 

He nodded, and ever so slightly relaxed.

She inhaled, as if this was something that weighed heavily on Her. Aziraphale thought that probably wasn’t a good sign. And when She spoke again, it was a lot less soft. 

‘My impressionable cherub,’ she began, her arms still encircling his belly and squeezing him a little. ‘You deceived me. I see much deception in you.’

His heart was in his mouth. He’d really done it now. ‘I didn’t mean to!’ he squawked, wishing so very much that he didn’t keep flustering into trouble, much as he had done on apple tree duty, on gate duty, and then flaming sword duty. 

‘Shush,’ she warned. ‘You should not have given the mortals the flaming sword.’

He slumped miserably at the harsh tone. He opened his mouth to explain, but closed it again, knowing it was futile. She knew best, of course.

‘I know you meant well,’ she added, still petting him. There was a long silence.

Aziraphale squirmed in her lap, wondering what was next, but there wasn’t much literal wiggle room. He was cocooned, absolutely, no matter how anxious he was. God holding him so tight felt blissful; warm and safe. He rested his head on Her shoulder.

‘I’m sorry, Lord,’ he murmured with genuine contrition, and prayed silently to, well, _ Her _, that retribution had been sufficiently served. 

‘I know,’ she spoke in a gravelly tone, that had an edge of danger to it. Aziraphale realised that being sorry alone was not going to be enough. She was definitely going to do something to him. 

‘Are you… are you going to punish me?’ he asked weakly, trying to cuddle up to her in an attempt to appear soft and sweet and ever so undeserving of anything harsh. After all, he’d never been naughty before. 

She stroked his hair. ‘Yes, little one.’

He tensed. 

‘You must not tell lies,’ she scolded. Aziraphale frowned. Perhaps he was not so much in trouble for failing to mind the apple tree with due care and attention, or the sword thing, or even for sheltering the demon, but more for the lying. Oops. He pouted, wringing his hands. Perhaps he hadn’t needed to be in trouble at all, if he’d just been a little braver and more honest. 

She sensed his distress again. ‘You are to remember this, Aziraphale, my dear angel. It will be easy for you to be tempted by those much more wicked and calculating than you. It will be easy for you to find yourself in trouble. It will be easy for you to tell little fibs to get yourself out of trouble. It will be easy for you to trust the wrong sort, out of the goodness of your heart, and your tendency to see nothing but love. For this you are forgiven. But do _ not _ lie to Me again.’

Aziraphale shuddered into a sob. ‘I won’t! I promise!’ he clung onto her. ‘Please don’t send me to Hell.’

She chuckled, comforting him, rocking him, and kissing the crown of his head. ‘Sweet one, I know your intentions are good, rather than wicked. _ Mostly _…’ she added a tone of warning on the last word. Aziraphale calmed, and gave a sniff, sensing he was not about to be flung into a pool of burning sulphur. So what then?

‘You’re quite a way from falling, my angel. But I mean to correct you so you will not find yourself winging in that direction.’ She still had a firm hold of his waist, and with another kiss to his temple, effortlessly flipped him so he was face down over Her lap. His arms dangled on the cloudy floor, fingers floating into softness. Why was she showing him the ground? It wasn’t comfortable to be this way up. 

‘_ Oh no! _’ whimpered Aziraphale. He wasn’t sure exactly what this was, but he knew he felt dreadfully vulnerable. Even more so when his white robe was tugged up at the back, revealing his pearly-white naked bottom, which he’d recently learned was something a little bit shameful. It wasn’t something that other people were supposed to see, though of course a Loving Mother didn’t count, and She had every right to comfort or discipline her cubs, upside down, naked, or otherwise. 

She spoke severely. ‘You will remember, Aziraphale. To respect my word. To be true.’

‘Yes, Lord,’ said Aziraphale, really very bravely given he didn’t know what was happening to him now. Was she turning him upside down forever? Was she baring his bottom forever? His thoughts were interrupted when a warm hand landed squarely in a firm tap against his round, left buttock. 

He gasped. He’d never been struck before. Another tap followed quickly, quite a bit harder, on the right buttock. He squeaked this time. This was so unfair - even that dastardly Crawly only got the one tap on the nose. 

The third swat was sharp, and it stung. He instinctively tried to wriggle away, suddenly concerned that She wasn’t showing signs of stopping. How many more would there be?

The fourth was a proper smack landing neatly across both buttocks. He cried out.

‘You will make it worse for yourself, Aziraphale,’ warned God, calmly. ‘Stay still while I commit the memory of your misdeeds to your flesh.’ A fifth and sixth smack came down hard.

‘No...’ he croaked involuntarily, though he did his best to settle. He kept as still as he could in Her lap and allowed himself to slacken, trying to demonstrate willing and obedience where his utterances were letting him down. 

‘Hush. It’s nearly over, but you have this coming’ she said. She heard him gulp. ‘You have been a poorly behaved cherub, Aziraphale. Good cherubs do not compromise the protection of Eden.’

He hid his face, hanging it as low as he could in shame, and properly broke into tears as a further half a dozen swats hit hard, the pain blooming as if he’d sat on a flaming sword. He realised She’d been kind to begin with, and that this was the real reprimand, a relentless volley designed to hurt and humble him, her hand smiting his tender area regardless of his cries or pleas. 

By the time it was over, there wasn’t a thought left in his head. It had to be enough, because he truly felt heartbroken, lying across the lap of the Almighty in such a way. He hadn’t heard of another angel, of any rank, being treated like this. The humiliation was everywhere inside him. The first proper thought he had after that was that he just hated that snake, and he wanted to kick that stupid apple tree, and perhaps he would set fire to something. 

‘Now, now,’ chided God, as if she’d heard every one of those rebellious desires. Aziraphale gave a dry, hopeless sob. She gently pulled his robe back over his heated, pink bottom and lifted him back to sitting on her knee. She rocked him gently as he shifted miserably in discomfort. The Almighty had never seen a pout quite like it. She sighed in amusement. 

‘That’s called a spanking,’ She said, raising an eyebrow. ‘I have a feeling it won’t be your last. I believe it will work best on the well-meaning, or misguided, who need to remember who loves them and who they belong to, to prevent them from getting lost.’ 

Aziraphale sniffed. He did not care for a spanking. But he knew _ Crawly _ needed one.

‘Is it over?’ he asked, scared to move.

She rubbed his arm. ‘Yes, Aziraphale. That’s over.’ She kissed him on the head and the angel relaxed in her arms now that he knew he wasn’t going to get another one of those… smacky things. 

‘However,’ she added, regarding Her angel’s perennial pout. ‘I no longer believe your best work belongs on the eastern gate.’

‘Am I to be demoted?’ he asked, thinking he should feel crestfallen, but curiously experiencing intense relief. 

She ushered him off her lap and stood him between her knees so he was looking at her. Her warm hands kept him in place. 

‘I see you more as a Principality than a cherub,’ she said, confirming his suspicions. Principalities were technically quite a step down. Seeing his scowl, God added, ‘You will bequeath blessings to the material world, as an educator and guardian to the realm of earth.’

‘Oh?’ chirped Aziraphale, liking the sound of it. ‘A _ principality _?’ He remembered seeing one once. He looked up at God hopefully. ‘Will I get a crown, or a…?

‘...sceptre? Really?’ God gave him a chiding glare. ‘After what you did with that flaming sword? No accessories for you.’

Aziraphale blushed at the admonishment. 

God shook her head at Her incorrigible angel. ‘It’s all right. I mean, your head office may make enquiries about that sword at some point, and you’ll have to answer to that, but you will need to be issued with something else for your new role.’ 

She trailed off thoughtfully, then chuckled at the angel who was watching her so sincerely. She took his right hand and kissed the golden ring on his pinky finger. It shone like a star for the briefest of moments. ‘There,’ she said kindly. ‘Now it has my kiss. That’s all the insignia you’ll need. You just keep that on you. Understood?’

He touched his ring, rolling it gently on his little finger, and admiring the way it glinted just that bit more. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, taking a private piece of God with him, wherever he was about to go.

‘So, my Principality, my wilful angel. I shall help keep you busy and out of trouble. You will oversee groups of mortals, and inspire them to betterment, leading them to things called arts and science. Your work will never be done, but it must always be done. Clear?’

‘Yes, Lord,’ said Aziraphale, hoping very much that clarity would actually come in due course.

‘Good,’ She said, with some formality. ‘So now I must present you with another kind of armoury. Something better suited to my Aziraphale.’

He beamed at her, feeling rather special. Her undivided attention was exhilarating, even though it had begun as undivided negative attention. She stood and led him by the hand to another part of the fluffy white eternity that began to find shape as a sort of library. Colours of amber and oak and parchment that had not been known before came out of the holy mist. Aziraphale had never seen a library, but he knew what it was, just like that. And it was the most _ beautiful _ thing he’d ever seen. Knowledge and thoughts and feelings and scribbles, bound together in leather and gold leaf and timelessness. It left him breathless, to think of the souls that had drifted, or were yet to drift, through pages and pages of experiences, and ideas, and senses. 

God squeezed his hand to bring his mind to heel. ‘I have three instructions for you as you navigate this new world. Listen carefully. And don’t worry, you will remember them, as they will find you throughout time, written on walls, hidden in songs, whispered in dreams.’ 

‘Firstly, Aziraphale: Exercise caution in your business affairs, for this world will be full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons will strive for high ideals, and everywhere life will be full of heroism.’

He listened eagerly. 

‘Secondly, remember to enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it will be a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.’

He nodded, a whole life dancing before his eyes. He was unsure what career he could have as an earthbound principality, but he looked up at the books which were stacked higher than the eye could see. How was it possible that so much could be written already? Or was this the future? Or was this the past? He wanted to float upwards and see all of it. He wanted to be master of all the books, to know every word, every sensation, every mind that filled up those glorious…

A light slap on his bottom jolted him out of his daydream. 

‘Concentrate,’ she scolded. Had God been speaking? Oops. He communicated an apology with his big baby blue eyes, slowly twisting himself so his rear end was harder for her to get to. He wasn’t sure now if smacks came in pairs, or some kind of cluster. He watched her like a frightened rabbit.

God gave him a hard stare, still holding his hand. ‘You are too easily distracted. Pay attention.’

‘Yes, Lord,’ said Aziraphale, bashfully. 

She led him to a small oak carving with a large flat disc on top. Aziraphale knew it was a table, for putting things on, and on that table, appeared a globe. It was the earth. He sighed happily. It was very pretty. 

God let go of his hand and stood behind him, her hands firmly on his shoulders.

‘Third lesson, Aziraphale. I trust you the most with this.’

He swallowed, feeling like it was time to step up to his new job. 

‘Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself and others. All are children of the universe, and no less than the trees and the stars; they have a right to be here.’

Aziraphale loved that. In that moment, everything else was forgotten. What a world. 

God let go of one shoulder and pointed to a spot on the globe, a tiny bit of land that looked like a deflated triangle. It seemed like an unremarkable landmass, and Aziraphale wondered what could possibly be there.

She continued. ‘Neither be cynical about love, Aziraphale, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.’

He turned back to look up at her. ‘Thank you, Lord. I’m really very sorry for the trouble I caused.’

She smiled warmly. ‘You’re not so bad, Aziraphale. You just need to do a better job of watching out for the ones who are.’ She touched his face, and the angel stopped breathing for a moment. He knew somehow it was an ending, and this exquisite intimacy would likely never come again.

‘Off you pop,’ She said softly, with a writhe smile. ‘I have faith in you.’

Her words echoed as he found himself floating through the blue and white sky, swooping over a deep green ocean, spinning over a dry and empty desert, and landing with a plop on a bale of hay. _ Somewhere. _

‘Oh,’ said Aziraphale, brushing the dry grass off himself. ‘Well then. Here we go.'

  
  
**6000 years later (present day)**

Aziraphale was aware of his reputation through the ages, derived through the eyes of humans. A dandy, a fop, a southern pansy. He knew he had been described as camp and coy, a mite bitchy or a touch petulant, in between the accolades received over the years as the soft old bookseller of Soho. It suited him. To the outside world, he was respected, as one might respect a firm but fair history teacher who was known to be kindly, but was never knowingly disrespected. It was unthinkable.

So he played all the parts with considerable glee and a blush of pride. Occasionally he was even a spoiled bratty cherub - but that was a performance reserved for behind closed doors _ only _.

To be Aziraphale was a delightful sort of play. But today was another game altogether. Today, the Principality Aziraphale, facilitator of education and guidance, was standing stoic, stern and stalwart in his bookshop, hands on his hips, glaring at a snakelet that had been causing him trouble since the actual dawn of time. 

‘I have told you time and time again,’ scolded the angel. ‘You are not to meddle with the books. No miracles with my books!’

His voice boomed. Even the books were surprised by the angry tone. 

Crowley, née Crawly, had tightened up into a sulky twist of baby snake. He was in deep trouble, and was trying to fold in on himself as far as possible without actually breaking the laws of physics. Of course, he could do that, but then that would _ really _ be crossing a line with Aziraphale. He wasn’t even supposed to be a snake right now.

Crowley shrank even more, sticking his face somewhere around the back of himself, and in between some folds, to pretend he wasn’t really there. 

‘That won’t work on me!’ continued Aziraphale crossly, tapping his foot. ‘You know what to do.’

The snakelet sank in defeat, then tentatively uncoiled. He slid slowly and sorrowfully to the angel’s feet. Aziraphale may as well have called ‘heel’.

Crowley raised his head to peer all the way up at the angel, who towered above him. He really did look most displeased. 

‘Come on,’ said Aziraphale sternly, though a little quieter now. 

The demon seemed to expand to a normal sized snake that was rising upwards. Then he was an oversized snake, still ascending, and then there was the usual sloping goth-like human form, with untamed red hair sticking up rebelliously and flushed cheeks. He didn’t transform himself to standing but arrived man-shaped on his knees. He looked up, wide-eyed, as if completely ignorant of the circumstances that had brought him there.

‘I didn’t meddle with the books, angel,’ he said with a suspicious innocence. ‘I meddled with the _ alphabet _.’

Aziraphale curled his lip, glowering at Crowley, who continued to describe his misadventure without an ounce of remorse. 

‘I got bored with A always being at the beginning. It’s not fair on the other letters! And then the books felt the need to rearrange themselves to adhere to the new order. Not my fault.’ He shrugged, his lips naturally protruding into an indifferent pout.

Aziraphale exhaled slowly and deliberately. He clasped a bony elbow and brought Crowley all the way up to his feet, promptly delivering a stinging swat to the seat of the black jeans.

‘Ow!’ cried Crowley, stunned by the strength of it. He heated up all over, shame mingling with something breathtaking.

‘You shouldn’t be meddling at all, should you?’ chided Aziraphale severely.

‘No,’ answered Crowley quietly, hanging his head and glancing at the floor. He braced himself for another smack. Instead, his elbow was released.

‘Correct it. Now.’

With a rueful glance to the books, Crowley raised both hands and snapped his fingers. There was a rustle and shuffle, a flutter and a squeak, one or two thuds and then a heavy silence. The angel felt confident that the books had received their right instructions and were now living according to the English alphabet - where relevant. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath and allowed his voice to soften. ‘Go and wait by my desk,’ he said. 

Crowley’s eyes darted to the angel’s for a moment, something of a plea flickering in the golden irises. 

The angel remained grim. ‘Now, Crowley, or you’ll make it worse for yourself.’

The demon obeyed, crossing the shop floor to wait by the angel’s writing desk. He knew he’d pushed a little too far. Aziraphale really didn’t have that many rules, it’s just that it had been a weird week, with weird Hell messages, and Crowley just didn’t know where else to go or what to do with all the thoughts. So he went sauntering downwards. He noted, though, it was usually more fun than this.

The angel’s footsteps drew close, and Crowley hung his head even lower. 

Aziraphale quietly joined him, and sat himself down in his chair, leaving Crowley feeling a bit sheepish, just standing there. The angel took his time getting comfortable before patting the desk, suggesting Crowley should park himself at least partially on it. The demon obliged, keeping one foot on the ground. Aziraphale straightened his bow tie and set his hands, fingers laced together, out in front of him. Formality again. Crowley felt an uncomfortable flutter in his stomach.

The blue eyes, still colder than Crowley would have liked, were fixed on him. ‘Crowley,’ he began, voice powered with authority. ‘Your behaviour over this last week concerns me greatly.’

‘I…’ began the demon, but Aziraphale cut him off sharply.

‘No!’ he barked. ‘Enough from you. You are going to listen to me and then you are going to answer my questions.’

Aziraphale watched his miserable demon sulk at the floor, tracing an invisible pattern with a snake-skin boot. ‘I know something is wrong. I know you are finding it hard to tell me. In the past five days you have done your utmost to get my attention, which you know I am happy to give. However, I have given it, have I not?’

‘Yes,’ answered Crowley almost imperceptibly, still staring at the floor.

‘Look at me,’ instructed the angel in a steely tone.

Crowley did. ‘Yes, Sir,’ he said. Not because he thought Aziraphale would expect the title, but more because the situation demanded it. His yellow eyes were watery. 

‘Crowley,’ said Aziraphale with exasperation. ‘I have done everything you have asked. I have indulged my little demon…’

There was a hint of a warm and loving smile as he said it, and Crowley felt worse.

‘...I have allowed for a merry chase and a good deal of mischief. I have put you in your place a number of times, and made sure you know you can come to me about anything. But you have not.’

‘I…’

‘I’m not finished,’ his angel scolded. ‘My lap, where I hold you, where I love you, where I punish you, is somewhere for you to be true. You know you are not to hide from me there - not in any form.’

Crowley was fighting back tears. It had just been so soft, so peaceful, so safe.

Aziraphale continued his lecture. ‘It was very naughty of you to transform into a snake when I caught you out just now. We agreed you wouldn’t do that. Why did you do that?’

Crowley sniffed and shook his head, unable to answer. 

‘Shall I tell you what I think, mmm? I think you’ve run out of playful ways to distract yourself from your troubles. You’ve been playing up and demanding I discipline you. I’ve spanked you three times this week already and you know full well I’m not just going to let it continue until you talk to me about what’s bothering you. So you did something I _ expressly _ asked you not to, to force my hand.’

Crowley pouted pitifully this time. His breath shuddered. 

‘We both have our boundaries, you and I. It may seem trivial to you, but having my life’s possessions re-arranged is very distressing to me. What you did was malicious, and it was malicious to me, of all people.’

Crowley’s face crumpled, and Aziraphale placed a warm hand on his to calm him.

‘Now, now,’ he said. ‘Crowley, I am happy to take responsibility for you. I am not abandoning you because you’ve done something wrong. And I am not asking you to be…’ He paused to grasp for the right language. ‘...any bigger than you currently feel. It’s okay. Let me help.’

Crowley nodded slowly.

‘Right,’ said Aziraphale, standing up. ‘Then first I will honour my promise to you, that if you ever disrupted my shop using a demonic miracle you’d get a whack with your very own ruler. He opened the drawer. 

The ruler wasn’t there. Crowley bit his lip. He’d forgotten about hiding it. That was supposed to be a cute little bit of nonsense that would earn him a smack on the leg and a tickle on the tummy. In the pause that followed, it now felt deadly. His throat was dry.

‘Where is it?’ asked Aziraphale, evenly. His eyes were an icy-blue, his lips pursed.

Crowley answered in a contrite mumble. ‘In the cupboard, behind all the honey.’

‘Go and get it. No miracles.’

Crowley shivered, and moved very quickly to oblige. He retrieved the dreaded object, and still with his head bent low, held it out meekly to Aziraphale. 

The angel remained stern. He took the ruler from Crowley, but before the demon could drop his hand away, he caught it by the wrist and forced the palm open, facing upright.

Crowley didn’t pull his hand away but flinched back, his breath hitching. He tried to control a tremble. ‘I’m sorry,’ he blurted. 

Aziraphale was studying him intently. ‘Stay still,’ he said simply, still holding Crowley’s hand in place. He aligned the ruler to it, then with startling conviction raised the flat length of wood in the air. He was focused on the hand, rather than the demon.

Crowley braced himself. The ruler came down in a sharp rap across his palm, an oddly specific bite where it hit as opposed to the overall sting and tingle that a smack with a hand gave him. 

It wasn’t that it hurt more so much as the formality of it that was bothering him. It felt so much more serious, and that bit less intimate. He bit his lip to avoid uttering a humiliating squeak, but stayed still and waited. As he did, he noticed that the site of the original impact was starting to throb more, rather than less, as time went on. 

He didn’t fully register this before a second blow landed on the same palm - a stinging stripe below the fingers. The accumulation of strikes burned and he shifted from foot to foot. 

‘You are _ not _ to touch this,’ scolded Aziraphale. ‘Or remove it from my drawer. Not ever.’ 

‘I’m sorry!’ said the demon, before he knew he was going to. He really was so sorry. 

Aziraphale dropped the punished hand and caught the other one. Crowley wriggled. 

‘And this is for mucking about with miracles and my books. I warned you, Crowley!’ He spoke sharply, showing the name on the side of the ruler to Crowley again, as he’d done as part of a threat not so long ago.

Crowley blinked at the golden lettering spelling C R O W L E Y. It had been waiting for him. Well, he wanted to know if the angel would do it. Now he knew. He felt more tears well in his eyes and bit down on his wobbling lip. 

Aziraphale saw his demon had become quiet and obedient, and knew it meant one thing. Crowley was feeling very bad for what he’d done, AND very Little. Only this particular combination rendered him so acquiescent. 

The angel knew Crowley needed him to see it through, but it made him ache. He grit his teeth and held the unblemished hand tight, again forcing it to spread open, palm up. This time Crowley knew exactly what was coming. He winced as the ruler went up, then came down in a vicious snap. He hissed.

‘No…’ started Aziraphale harshly, raising it again. 

‘...miracles,’ he stated with finality, whipping the stick across the reddened palm. 

Crowley shrieked and Aziraphale let go of his hand. The demon hopped about, doubled up, stuck his hand between his thigh for a moment, then took it out and blew on it. It was like eating chilli peppers, thought Crowley. Bad enough at first but intensifying after the fact, perhaps infinitely, and spreading like wildfire. 

The angel observed him carefully. ‘No miracles for a week, Crowley. I hope you got that.’

Crowley shook his hands out as if the smarting would somehow just fall off, then took a moment to study both palms of his hands. He was so preoccupied, he hadn’t noticed he’d allowed tears to roll down his cheeks. 

Aziraphale replaced the ruler in the desk drawer, and miracled it locked for his own peace of mind. 

‘Crowley,’ he said, still with an edge to his voice. ‘Don’t you dare do that again.’

Crowley burst into sobs. Of course, his angel went to him immediately, embraced him, and drew him into his lap as soon as he’d sat back down in his chair. 

He stroked him, shushed him, kissed him, rocked him. The demon had somehow folded his human form up like a small black deckchair in the angel’s lap. He was determined not to transform - he owed it to Aziraphale. But in truth he felt smaller than he could ever remember. He’d let down his angel. Not been silly, or mischievous, or naughty, but a _ bad friend _. He cried softly. 

‘There there, Crowley, dear,’ murmured Aziraphale. ‘It was only matter of time before you tested me like that, wasn’t it?’

‘You’re angry,’ blubbed Crowley, burying his face in the angel’s lapel. 

‘Yes I am,’ confirmed Aziraphale, nonchalantly. He continued to rock the snuffling demon. ‘Does that scare you, my dear?’

Crowley thought about it for a moment. He had been very scared. Maybe of the ruler? But no, not when he thought about it. The ruler couldn’t really hurt him. His angel, then? But his angel couldn’t really hurt him either, and if he hadn’t known that before, he certainly did now. Maybe he was scared of something far worse. That Aziraphale would just walk away.

His sobs started to subside as his mind whirled around in confusion, and he felt the angel hold him just a little tighter. 

‘No,’ mumbled Crowley. ‘Didn’t mean to…’ his voice cracked.

‘To what?’ prompted Aziraphale.

‘Break your rule. Break your sanctuary. Ruin everything.’

‘Ah,’ said the angel, a little music in his voice. ‘I’m sure I will get angry with you, Crowley, every now and again, for the rest of our lives. I expect I will be angry for all sorts of reasons and in all sorts of ways, especially given your talent for trouble.’

The demon was starting to relax as the angel lulled him with his words.

‘But as for anything being ruined, that depends on what you’re about to tell me. This is more important than all the books in the world, because what we have will be ruined if you do not tell me what is happening. I cannot be anything good to you if you hide your truth from me.’ 

Crowley sat up straight, shuffling on Aziraphale’s knee. ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Well you have,’ said the angel, coldly.

Crowley slipped off his knee and stood at his full height to face his angel, hands in his pockets. ‘They’re back, angel. Hell - they’re following me and… threatening me. I think they want to provoke something, to see if they can get a rise out of me. It would give them an excuse to collect me again. I always knew they wouldn’t leave us alone forever.’

Aziraphale’s eyes had widened, but his expression remained inscrutable. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘How long has that been going on?’

Crowley looked at his boots again. ‘A few days…’

‘_ Crowley _…’ warned the angel, recognising the demon’s tell. He tended to look at his left foot when he fibbed.

‘A few weeks,’ amended Crowley, quickly. 

Aziraphale stood. ‘Right. I’ll take care of this.’

‘I don’t think you can!’

‘Oh I can,’ said Aziraphale, radiating a rose gold hue Crowley had never seen before. ‘And I will. Hell hath no fury like an angel scorned. I shall put a stop to this.’

Crowley’s mouth fell open. ‘Wha - how?’

‘Never you mind. Upstairs with you. Wait for me in the bedroom. Door closed.’ 

‘Angel! I’m not going to leave you to…’

Aziraphale turned on him abruptly and actually yelled at him. ‘I said upstairs!’

Crowley dashed away instantly, scaling the stairs at a supernatural speed. The angel heard the bedroom door close as he picked up his telephone receiver, and miracled the rotary dial phone to turn to a sequence of numbers that bore no resemblance to any earth telephone number. 

The line rang three times, and an impassive female voice answered. ‘Blessings,’ was all she said.

‘Michael,’ said Aziraphale, with a glorious mixture of gravitas and pleasantry. ‘Long time no back channels.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Michael blithely. ‘You’re breaking up. I can’t understand you.’ 

‘Oh you will,’ growled Aziraphale. ‘Worth pointing out London, England has your number. Question is, does Gabriel?’

There was a crackling pause. 

‘How may I direct your call?’ asked Michael, her sneer extending all the way down the phone line.

‘Tell your friends on the _ night shift _ to back off,’ he commanded. ‘They don’t know what they’re dealing with when it comes to us.’

There was a snigger. ‘You and your boyfriend are an abomination,’ stated Michael. ‘You will Fall, Aziraphale.’

‘Not before _ you _ , Michael,’ responded the angel darkly. ‘And I’d like to see _ you _ survive a column of hellfire as punishment.’

Another pause. Aziraphale turned on the spot impatiently waiting for a reply, only to be dazzled by a chink of golden light. He blinked and looked about for the source. His pinky ring was glinting at him. He suddenly felt braver than ever. 

‘Call them off,’ he repeated to Michael, stiffly. ‘Or I pay Gabriel a visit, and he finds out what a bad angel you’ve been.’

A pressing silence hung between them.

‘The Lord bless you and keep you,’ she hissed. ‘The _ night shift _ will be cancelled.’

‘Oh, thank you very much,’ said Aziraphale happily. ‘Love wins - _ bitch _.’

He replaced the receiver, feeling a bit smug. A deep breath in and a deep breath out. He still sensed a glow, and knew what to do next. With a snap of his fingers, he turned the lights off in the shop, and went upstairs to check on his demon.

He opened the door to find Crowley sitting obediently on the edge of the bed. 

‘It’s taken care of,’ announced Aziraphale. 

‘But how?’ asked Crowley. 

‘I have my ways and means, you know,’ he said with a sniff. ‘Plus our body swap provided just the right amount of insight.’

Crowley gasped. ‘The Archangel Michael!’ he intoned in wonder. ‘Oh angel… you didn’t _ blackmail an archangel _did you?’

‘No of course not. Why would you even suggest such a thing?’ He sat on the edge of the bed and winked at his demon. They giggled together like schoolboys for a good long moment, before recognising the toll of the past few days and a tug of fatigue.

Aziraphale reached a hand out and brushed a stray, stubborn spike of red hair away from the demon’s forehead. ‘My fallen angel,’ he said lovingly. ‘And what an angel. My Anthony Jamil Crowley. My naughty noodle.’

‘Oh shut up,’ wriggled Crowley, the praise feeling prickly and misplaced. Except for the noodle thing.

‘Don’t push me away like that,’ admonished Aziraphale gently, squeezing the demon’s hand. 

‘I’m a _ demon _, Aziraphale,’ he scowled. ‘Full of... malice.’

Aziraphale cringed. That scolding had hit home, it seemed. 

‘It wasn’t all that malicious, my dear. I was telling you off. What you did was mean, pushing me like that, messing with my things. But malice was perhaps a strong word for it. And you are far from full of it, even at your worst.’

Crowley gazed at his angel, who opened his arms. ‘Come here,’ cooed Aziraphale. ‘Let’s get comfy.’

They shuffled to the head of the bed, and Crowley snuggled up to his angel, one lanky leg draped over him.

‘I don’t deserve you,’ he brooded.

‘No being in the universe is undeserving of love, Crowley,’ said Aziraphale, as if remembering an incantation. ‘Discipline, and sometimes punishment, yes. But also forgiveness. And always, always love. Stop fighting it. I will make you learn this if I have to etch it into you blow by blow, kiss by kiss.’ He tapped Crowley on the bottom to reinforce the point. 

‘Okay,’ said Crowley sleepily, starting to rest his eyes. He filled up with peace as his thoughts drifted. His hands didn’t even hurt anymore. The ruler was really no worse than a spanking, just a bit more grown up. Another reason not to be too grown up, he supposed. He preferred his angel's touch, and his lap.

‘Rest now, my Crowley,’ whispered the angel. 

The demon felt like his was sinking into a plush pillow. But just before he did, he muttered a question. ‘What the Jamil thing again? It’s fine with it just being a J.’

‘It means beautiful,’ breathed the angel. ‘In Arabic. And there’s a song, from a new musical I like. I could sing it to you if you like.’

‘A lullaby, angel?’ snorted Crowley, before deciding that actually he loved that idea, and finally, _finally_ allowing himself to give in. He felt himself start to disappear into his pillowy principality.

Aziraphale nuzzled the crown of his demon’s head, and remembered the words to the song that had made such an impression on him. Words changed over the millennia, of course, but the magic behind them always found a way to rearrange itself and pop up in surprising ways. He chuckled to himself as he realised it was a little like Crowley rearranging the alphabet. 

He crooned softly.

‘It means something that's only yours to give

It means choosing the way you want to live

It means wonderful

And it means powerful

And it means true

It means something as perfect as it's pure

It means waiting until you know you're sure

It means beautiful

And it's beautiful like you

Beautiful, beautiful

A little bit of glitter in the grey

Beautiful, beautiful

Something precious you don't simply give away

It means something that's always yours to keep

It's the face you don't take off to go to sleep

It means simple

And it means magical like a kiss

It's a path that you choose to walk upon

Not some fleeting thing you find one day is gone

It means innocence

And it means confidence like you

Beautiful, beautiful

A little bit of glitter in the grey

Beautiful, beautiful

Something precious you don't rush to give away

It's a secret you never get to tell

Something shy and special stuck inside its shell

It means brilliant and resilient

But not free

Beautiful, beautiful

It's a promise that's still waiting for its day

Beautiful, beautiful

It's a leading part I'll always want to play

  
Beautiful.'

**Author's Note:**

> Song: It Means Beautiful, is from the London West End musical Everybody's Talking About Jamie. The show is set in Sheffield, UK, and features a character called Jamie New. He is a 16 yr old school boy who is teased about his homosexuality, and he reveals to the audience all he wants to be is a drag queen. When Jamie is feeling upset and ugly following hurtful comments and behaviour, his best friend Pritti tells him what Jamie, which translates to Jamil, means in Arabic. 
> 
> I feel like Aziraphale would have been soft for this musical. But I changed the last line of the song to suit him better - the original is 'It's a leading part I'll never get to play'
> 
> The scene is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kw9gs1RfrlM

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fledglings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20186092) by [HipHopAnonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipHopAnonymous/pseuds/HipHopAnonymous)


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